


The Heart Is A Muscle

by antivalentine



Category: Little Women - Louisa May Alcott, Little Women Series - Louisa May Alcott
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Cross-Posted on FanFiction.Net, F/M, Gen, Medical Conditions, New York City, somebody might die though
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-10-11
Updated: 2016-01-20
Packaged: 2018-05-15 06:10:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5774437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antivalentine/pseuds/antivalentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In this version, Beth's heart does not fail her, and that in turn will alter the lives of everyone around her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Washington

Beth tried not to flinch from the coldness of the stethoscope and concentrated on breathing slowly in and out, though the proximity of the great doctor from Washington was making her anxious.

'Hmm,' was all the doctor said. 'Thank you, Miss March.' He walked slowly round to the other side of his desk. Marmee took Beth's hand and squeezed it reassuringly.

The doctor made some indecipherable notes on the pad in front of him and frowned. Beth's heart sank. Not so much for herself -- she had been trying to teach herself for years, not to worry, not to hope -- but for her mother. It would be so hard for her to hear the bad news.

'Well,' said the doctor, 'there is a slight murmur. Dr. Bangs may be right in supposing that the fever damaged the heart, but it's also possible that it has been present since birth. Were you always delicate, Miss March? Your mother mentioned that you did not go to school?'

Beth glanced at her mother, rather hoping that she would answer for her, but Marmee only smiled encouragingly and squeezed her hand again.

'I...' Beth spoke haltingly, but clearly. 'I was only shy, and didn't like the noise and strangers, but I was always healthy, until I had the fever. And I am quite better now, it is only that I get so tired.'

'Good, good.' He continued making notes. 'Sometimes, you know, a young lady will appear to be delicate in body when in reality she is only delicate in mind. It seems you are a sensible girl who knows the difference.'

'Oh, Beth is by no means an invalid,' Mrs March put in quickly. 'She works so hard at her chores and her hobbies -- she would work even harder if we let her.'

'Good. I see far too many young ladies wasting their lives lounging on sofas, taking all manner of unnecessary tonics, when a dose of fresh air and exercise would do them more good and give them more energy than a year of resting up. The heart is a muscle like any other, and it needs to be exercised to stay strong and healthy. I would like Miss March to take a brisk daily walk, to eat a simple diet with not too much meat or other rich food, and drink plain water rather than tea or coffee.'

'A daily walk? Even in winter?' Mrs March sounded dubious.

'Absolutely, the cold air has a bracing effect. So long as you wrap up warm and don't sit around in damp clothes you will be fine. Don't let anybody tell you that you are too frail to do anything, Miss March. You are still very young, and your constitution must be strong else you could not have survived the fever in the first place.'

Beth stared at him, her eyes growing round and wide. The words seemed impossible to say, yet she knew that she must say them. 'You mean... I'm not going to die after all?'

'Beth!' cried Mrs March, honestly shocked to learn of the secret burden her daughter had been carrying.

The doctor smiled. 'We're all going to die, eventually. I can't make any promises. None of us know what the future may hold. But I see no reason why you should die any sooner than your mother or myself, if you follow my advice and luck is on your side.'

'But the exhaustion...' Mrs March began.

'Believe it or not, it is much more fatiguing to do nothing all day than it is to do something. My advice may seem unorthodox, but experience suggests that it works better than the standard treatments. The only medicine I want you to take is these drops to help regulate your heart beat.' The doctor scribbled rapidly on his pad and handed a script to Mrs March. 'Nothing else: no sleeping draughts, no tonics, nothing to interfere with the body's natural workings. Wine is acceptable, but not in excess. Most importantly, Miss March, you must not allow yourself to have any more such morbid thoughts about the future. Once one starts to admit of such dreadful possibilities, half the Reaper's work is already done for him.'

Beth nodded, meekly but enthusiastically, afraid of her own heart pounding in her chest. It wasn't good for her to be excited, she knew, but she felt that she had just been given a wonderful gift and was determined to make the most of it.


	2. New York

'You know, mother, I am so looking forward to having Beth meet the Professor. He's such a capital fellow, and I can't help thinking she would be good for him.'

Mrs March looked grave. 'Jo, I hope I don't need to remind you that real life isn't one of your stories, and such matters shouldn't be meddled with. Beth is still very young, and the Professor is a full twenty years older.'

'But Meg was married at nineteen.'

'Beth isn't Meg, and your Professor isn't John.'

'I don't see why you should have all the fun of matchmaking and I shouldn't have a bit of it.' Jo pouted, throwing another pile of clothes into the trunk with rather less care and rather more force than necessary. 'Why, you got to know John before Meg did, and found out that he would make her an excellent husband. Well, Meg is happy and settled now, and Amy well on the way to being so, so now it's Beth's turn, and I intend to do my best for her. She's such a maternal little being, she would be the best thing that could happen to those motherless boys, and I'd like to see the Professor put her on the pedestal where she belongs. Don't scold, Marmee, you know I'm only half-serious, and I'd never do anything to compromise Beth or make her uncomfortable... I only think it would be nice if things did turn out like one of my stories, just once.' 

The smile that played about Jo's mouth as she contemplated her castle in the air was such a welcome sight to her mother that she did not have the heart to press the matter. Nobody had realised, before, quite how much Beth's illness had lowered Jo's spirits, nor how much she had blamed herself, but the doctor's casual remark that the weakness in Beth's heart might not have been wholly caused by the fever seemed to have given Jo a new lease of life. She had returned to New York shortly after refusing Laurie's proposal of marriage, once more thinking it wise to put some distance between them, and thrown herself into attending lectures and plays, brushing up her languages, and writing, the better to get over her heartbreak. People might have said that _breaking_ the heart of one's oldest and dearest friend could not possibly be as painful as enduring the breakage oneself, but Jo took it hard, and her letters home for some months were terse and infrequent. However, young hearts are elastic, and the bright lights and buzz of the city began to make a home there. A fellow boarder, upon finding out that Miss March 'scribbled a little', begged for some contributions to a magazine he and some political friends were setting up; Jo obliged with some comic sketches, and although the work was not highly paid, there was something much more satisfying about the honest praise she received as the articles were passed around the dinner table than there had ever been in the money she once earned writing sensational trash.

So Jo was beginning her career in earnest, with a review here and a sketch there, short stories and poems; whatever would pay, while still being suitable to send home for the family to read. She was adaptable, hardworking, and reliable, traits every bit as much in demand in the magazine industry as literary ability, and was getting on famously. No surprise, then, that she was eager to share her good fortune with those she loved best, and insisted on whisking Beth off to the city as soon as the winter snows were safely melted.

But Beth never would be a city girl. She found it hard to understand what people were saying, sometimes; they spoke so quickly, hardly getting one word out before starting on the next. The one time they went to the theatre, she grew so pale and panicky among the crowds filing out at the end that Jo thought it safer not to repeat the experiment. Beth was a lark by temperament, and evening amusements were of no interest to her; she preferred to wake at dawn and creep downstairs, taking her daily constitutional among the delivery boys and milkmen going about their duties, for Beth would always feel more comfortable around working men and women than she did around ladies and gentleman, and she rather liked the invisibility that walking around the city in her most battered bonnet afforded her.

The rest of the time, when Jo was working, she befriended the children of the neighbourhood, who quickly learned that 'Miss Betty' was an expert comforter of bruised knees and mender of broken dolls. Little Tina, in particular, became infatuated, and trailed around after her like Mary's faithful lamb, the Professor quite forgotten in favour of this new love. The Professor took his supplantation manfully, and indeed with some amusement. At first, Beth was a little frightened of him -- his voice was so very loud and German, and his beard so very bushy -- but seeing this the Professor took care to be gentle around Jo's timid little sister, and they were soon fast friends. Jo was too busy to delight much in how they got on, but delight she did, and her air castles continued undiminished.

Beth herself had no such notions. It was clear as day to her that the Professor was every bit as much in love with Jo as Laurie had always been, and that Jo was being willfully obtuse about it, exactly as she had been with Laurie, so that she would not be put in the dreadful position of having to refuse him. Before coming to New York, Beth had not understood why Jo wouldn't marry Laurie. He was such a dear boy, and he and Jo were so fond of each other, that she had always quietly assumed that one day they would settle down together. But now, having seen her sister in her element, earning her own money, working on her novel, racing to meet deadlines, she was beginning to see that not everyone was meant to be married. It would be very difficult -- Beth did not like to say 'impossible' -- to work so hard and take care of a husband at the same time, and if Jo could not devote herself heart and soul to an enterprise she would rather not do it at all.

She was sure that the Professor realised this too. There was a look in his eyes sometimes when he spoke of Jo which was very like the look he had when he spoke of Minna. It was a sadness, yes; but there was also a glow which was not sad at all, because he had obviously loved his sister and was glad and grateful to have known her. What was that line Laurie had quoted in one of his melodramatic fits? Better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all. Beth was not especially fond of Tennyson -- he was so gloomy! -- but she approved of that sentiment.

Beth was so innocent that one might have thought her ill-equipped to negotiate such matters, but somehow the younger Miss March learned more of the various heartbreaks and intrigues among her fellow boarders and their circles than did the elder. Perhaps it was simply that Jo's acquaintances feared ending up in one of her stories some day; but it is more likely that there was something in Beth's gentle manner which invited confidences, and assured people that their secrets would be safe with the quiet girl who sat in the corner and sewed as they talked, content in her own little world. She shrank from telling the Professor exactly what had transpired between Jo and Laurie, knowing that it was not her story to tell; nor, when Jo rambled on about the Professor and what a shame it was the poor man had no wife to help him raise his nephews, did it ever occur to her to enlighten her about the true state of his heart. Some things were better left unsaid. If Laurie had ever had the opportunity to see Jo the way she was now, he would never have sought to take her freedom away. 

It was terribly sad, that one could love someone and never be loved in return; or, even if loved, not exactly in the way one wished. But Beth was neither a child nor a simpleton, and she knew all too well that, in real life, many stories do not have happy endings. When she was fourteen years old, she had watched a baby die in her arms. Sometimes, life was unjust. Occasionally, she could not help but suspect that she understood this better than her sisters.


	3. Voyage

'Oh Bethy, such news!' Jo came running into the parlour even more dishevelled than usual, having slept late and missed breakfast after burning the midnight oil. 

Beth looked up expectantly from the doll's pinafore she was making for Tina. 'Is it Meg? Is there going to be another baby?'

'Better than that. Amy's engaged to Fred Vaughn! They're still in Nice at the moment, but will be married in London, and that angelic old dragon Aunt March is paying my passage to England for the wedding. I'm sure she just wants to stop the family name appearing in bylines for a few months, but no matter. Marmee won't leave Meg and the twins, and Father won't leave Marmee, so you and I are going in their stead. Mr Laurence has business to attend to in London, so he will play chaperone, and it sounds as if he'll bring Teddy too since the boy can't be trusted to look after himself. How delicious it will be! London, at last!' and Jo, quite worn out by this effusion, fairly hurled herself on to the sofa.

Beth skimmed through her mother's letter, so expertly summarised by Jo, with mounting anxiety. 'I don't know. It's so far, and so expensive...'

'Mr. Laurence won't hear of going without you, and for that matter neither will I. Sea air has always done you good, and where better to get it than crossing the Atlantic? You must supply Marmee's place, and say all the homely, comforting things to Amy that she would say.'

'I don't know any comforting things,' murmured Beth, a little crossly. The sight of Marmee's handwriting always made her homesick, and the prospect of spending even more time away from home was a daunting one. If only she could see her parents, and Meg, and the babies, before she went! 

But, since she was already in New York, the plan was for her to stay a month or so longer at Mrs Kirke's before being joined by the Laurences and setting sail. Then they would be travelling with a stranger; since the world at large stubbornly refused to recognise Laurie as their brother, the girls must needs be chaperoned by a Mrs. McIntyre, the widow of one of Mr. Laurence's business partners, who was going to visit her family in Scotland. Jo skipped over this detail, airily saying that she was sure they would 'shake her off somehow, and have larks', but Beth was not quite so sanguine. She did worry that putting Laurie and Jo on a ship together would reawaken all his 'lovelornity', which would in turn exasperate Jo... but, well, he had been getting back to something like his old self before she left for New York, so all she could do was hope for the best. And, after all, it would be pleasant to see old Mr Laurence again, and to see Amy married and settled, even if it was so very far away.

Naturally, new clothes had to be bought; and shopping with Jo was a trial as always, her sister refusing to take the requisite interest in fabrics and slipping off to gaze longingly at expensive pens and inlaid writing-desks instead. Then there were packing-cases to be fitted out, and wedding presents to be acquired, all of which thrifty little Beth managed to accomplish without bothering anybody else too much; though the first time she walked into one of the great department stores by herself she thought she would surely have a heart attack. It is remarkable what impossible feats we can manage when necessity requires them, and before the month was out Beth was no longer quite so intimidated by the shop assistants who looked askance at her simple clothes, nor the fast-talking city dwellers who crowded the streets. The weather was starting to get hotter, too, the gentle breezes of spring giving way to the heavy stillness of summer, and Beth began to see the advantages of quitting the city for the sea.

Almost before she knew it, the trunks were packed and the Laurences were upon them, like a benevolent wind blowing in from home and bearing all manner of gifts and good wishes. Beth had a little weep over Marmee's note, but there was little time for sadness when there was so much news to be exchanged on both sides. She kept a weather eye on Laurie, who seemed almost too full of gaiety, if anything, addressing all his remarks to the general company, and barely looking at Jo. Beth observed that he had shaved off his moustache, and hoped this had nothing to do with the fact that Jo detested it. When Jo introduced him to Professor Bhaer on their way out to dinner, both men seemed unusually stiff and cold with each other, not at all their normal gregarious selves; but Jo seemed only to notice Laurie's behavior, complaining later as she and Beth got ready for bed:

'Ridiculous boy! Did you see how stand-offish he was with the Professor? I truly thought he would be over his jealousy by now, but apparently not. It's a shame, since they'd get on famously if only Teddy would give him a chance.'

Beth, employed in setting out their travelling clothes for the morning, said only 'I hope you will be kind to him, Jo. You know how fond he is of you.'

'As I am of him, but not in that way. And, really, he should know better than to suspect me of dallying with any one, least of all the Professor, who is forty if he's a day, and the least flirtatious fellow ever to walk this earth, dear man! I wish there was some way I could smuggle him in my luggage and get him back to the Fatherland. It would be so nice to see him in his native habitat, among his own people.' Jo smiled at the thought as she threw back the covers and jumped underneath.

A stab of pity went through Beth's heart. Poor Professor, to be dismissed so kindly, so airily! Poor Laurie, to be labelled 'ridiculous' for his fears! And poor Jo, fated to break the hearts of both these men whom she liked so much and would not willingly have hurt for all the world. Not for the first time, Beth reflected that 'lovering' was, on the whole, quite a dreadful business and she was happy to be excluded from it. It must be a great relief to Amy finally to have accepted Fred and not have to worry about such things any more. She only hoped that Jo would be more patient, and Laurie less trying, and that the voyage would not be too much of an ordeal.


End file.
